


It Can't Remember Where It Started From

by beautifullyheeled, toomanyfandomstoolittletime



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AO3 Tags - Freeform, AU, Alternate Universe - Crack, Bad Jokes, Bad Puns, But your co-writer might be, Crack Crossover, Dark John Watson, I Blame Tumblr, I'm Not Ashamed, M/M, PWP, Sex Is Not The Enemy, Sherlock - Freeform, Tax!Lock, There's A Tag For That
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 16:58:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullyheeled/pseuds/beautifullyheeled, https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanyfandomstoolittletime/pseuds/toomanyfandomstoolittletime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when Taxes, Sherlock, glasses and GISHWHES collide? One-shot written at all hours of the day and night in a 48 hour run of hilarity. </p><p>SERIOUSLY THIS IS CRACK IN ALL IT'S GLORY. LOOK AT THE TAGS... OMG THE *mrphgrrrrglll*</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Can't Remember Where It Started From

**Author's Note:**

> Don't take it too seriously - we didn't! 
> 
> Everyone who reads this should let Misha know GISHWHES is dangerous...

Today was just another very long day in a list of very long days. Sherlock hated days like this, so many unworthy clients; it was maddening. To avoid this happening on too regular a basis, he would often take off in the middle of the day, leaving the rest of his colleagues exasperated, but knowing that when he returned life would be just a little bit easier for everyone.

It was just as he was wishing he had had the time to do that today that our protagonist, one John Watson, entered his office.

Now John, our dear, put-upon younger brother of a belligerent wayward older sister, was here solely on a mission for said rehensible woman. And he was not pleased about it at all. No, he really wasn’t. John knew this could have been avoided, as one avoids things like the flu, with at least little precaution and very steady income, of which Harry had none. Especially now that Clara had left her for the last time, thus leaving this whole mess in his hands. He did hope that perhaps it wasn’t actually the last time because he’d always had a bit of a crush on Clara. Not that he’d tell anyone obviously. Although you, dear reader, may soon find that someone rather crucial to our story deduces this fact quite quickly anyway.

Very flustered at yet another simpleton gracing his doorstep,Sherlock sighed quite dramatically as he took in the ready-wear trousers, slightly baggy - a bit on the worn side, and followed the line upwards. The sigh turned into something else altogether when two bespectacled sets of eyes locked. As his glasz eyes took in the vivid blue, his false yawn quickly turned into a gasp.  John took one more step into the office, his gaze now firmly on Sherlock, having been staring fixedly at his slightly scuffed shoes until that point.

Sherlock stood up, climbed over his desk in his usual manner of disregard for furniture, grabbed John by the collar and shoved him into the wall, kissing him soundly despite the fact that not even two words had been exchanged yet.

“You’re not here for yourself. You’re here for a horrid sibling... I am so sorry, but I do not see people who aren’t worth the paper their tax bills are listed on.” Sherlock tilted his head, still in observation of the man in front of him. “You though, you could have my assistance... ”

“John, Doctor John Watson.” He smiled tightly. “Yes, I am here on behalf of my sibling. That was amazing... but personally, I do not need assistance in this area thank you-”

“Then maybe this area might be more fortuitous.” Sherlock really didn’t care. He pressed his semi-erect penis against John’s lower stomach, the layers between added delicious friction. It was just the sight of those marks on John’s shoes that made him give in to his baser instincts. The fact that he had High Street clothing, but hadn’t an idea how to dress fashionably twisted Sherlock’s insides all the right directions. He moved to capture another heated exchange of saliva when John forcibly began to protest.

“Now, just hold on! One. Damn. Minute!” Shouted John.

Sherlock held firm, but looked surprised. “No! You are simply too keen in that abnosome tweed waistcoat and careworn wool!”

“You..." John didn’t even have a chance to finish his sentence before Sherlock had crashed his lips back against John and snaked an arm up his back.

“Me, nothing!” Sherlock’s hornrims slipped down the bridge of his nose as he crashed their lips together once again. “How dare you walk into my office looking like the most deliciously perfectly balanced account book obviously flirting to garner my attention! Well now you have it!”

“You... are... a... a mad octopus!” John cried writhing against the accountant.

“A... A what?” Sherlock pulled away and glared at John. “That’s not a very complimentary thing to say to anyone is it?!”

John, our dear sweet John, then took matters into his own hands. Literally in fact. He picked Sherlock up, all six foot of accountant and flung him onto the desk, scattering all the many papers, notebooks and other usel- I mean useful items onto the floor.That would show him.

“Oh, it’s not now?” John’s cheeky demeanor showing, “Well then I suppose you wouldn’t really like this much would you?” He teasingly unzipped his trau, peeked out his slickened member. “Bet you’ve not seen something like this before... “

It was true, Sherlock could do nothing more than gape at the slickened thing. It was completely otherworldly. Deep aubergine at it’s base to a soft milky white, it moved in John’s steady hand. Sherlock kept gaping so John made the next move seeing the man stunned into submission. He yanked Sherlock’s shirt out of his trousers and blew large noisy raspberries all across his stomach.

“It’s... What is it...?” Sherlock finally seemed to have found his voice. John chose not to reply just yet. “It’s definitely non-depreciable...” He couldn’t help but to take in the length and fine folds that followed to the most definitely cephalopodic tip. It was almost hypnotic and most infuriatingly fascinating. He could not take his eyes away from the thing! It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps that was the reason he was attracted to John - he wasn’t quite so human afterall.

“No, it definitely isn’t... that.” John was pleased with this turn of events. He had been so terribly lonely and here was this accountant, completely transfixed, studying him heatedly. He shifted slowly from foot to foot, his hand rubbing lightly up and down the appendage that Sherlock still wasn’t sure of the name of. “No averaging here.”

Sherlock wondered if that meant multiple orgasms were on the cards too. The way it writhed of it’s own volition, the colours deepened further. He sat up abruptly and pulled hard to bring John back into his reach. His glasses had begun to fog over, and he needed to feel his way to strip John. John in turn groped blindly at him, his glasses seemed to have vanished altogether. But this is not something you should dwell on dear reader, it’s simply called a plot hole.

“Oh, Sherlock,” John breathed heatedly as more papers scattered off onto the floor, the biros shortly after as well, “This will be no ordinary gain on your part... are you up to the challenge?”

Sherlock was most definitely up for the challenge. In fact, he was so up for the challenge he was about to burst through his fashionably tight suit trousers. John helped him out of them by shredding them in his fingers. Sherlock’s breath caught in amazement, but he was not to be outdone. The buttons of John’s shirt met with a most certain fate as they flew, hitting the hard surfaces of the room, his shirt happily meeting the floor forthwith. In fact, neither of them really need to have clothing on at this point, so there’s another plot point left unfinished, but this is crack fiction after all, is it not? So no more clothes (and on to the good bits).

John’s (ahem) appendage slipped and writhed sloppily against Sherlock’s anus, so cute and tight that it was. It would soon be annihilated, fucked into oblivion and totally un-virginised, he would see to that. Cooing and blowing soft raspberries against Sherlock’s neck, he tried to settle firmly, allowing the tip to snake and tease the yet unbudded flesh, waiting for the tiny (ickle really) suction cups to kiss their way inward.

Sherlock couldn’t decide whether he wanted to be dragged closer or run screaming at this point, the sensation so alien but yet almost welcome. He settled for moaning loudly as John blew raspberries on his neck, realising in a small part of his very large brain (that was kind of lacking blood at the moment) somewhere that this was part of the the very important mating ritual used by John that even came with instruction manuals in five parts (six if you included the specialised hentai section). But he was too busy being courted to bother about it. Fuck it all, John could drive this deferral into the ground for all he cared.

“You... are perfect Sherlock...” John groaned into the sensory input he was receiving. “You’re just delicious.” Sherlock hadn’t exactly realised he probably wasn’t going to make it out of this alive. John hadn’t mentioned that part yet. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d survive this. If not, what a pleasurable way to die. But obviously this still hadn’t occurred to Sherlock yet (Because again, blood diversion).

“It’s the bergamot and iris in my hand miln toiletries... must be... the cinnamon too... an aphrodisiac of sorts...” Sherlock was gasping for it. Literally.

“Mmmm.” John, our hero in this story, made an approving sound. “Yes, it does taste quite nic-...” He stopped mid-word and purred a moan as his sex organ finally found purchase, having unfurled Sherlock’s sweet innocence just enough to get the very beginnings of the self-lubricating tip in. John began nipping at Sherlock to once again soothe him. “Gods, do you taste so very, very sweet.”

Sherlock found himself unable to form any real words at this point, so what followed was a series of mysterious noises that somehow John managed to interpret as enjoyment and arousal. Good job too, since if they had been alarm this story would have a very different ending since John doesn’t normally bother playing with his food first. No, that he would never do.

The muscle slowly relenting to the constant minor undulation, John worked his way in while murmuring platitudes of “Not food” and “You’re mine” and “Oh, quite lovely”. His foreskin slaked around rippling causation for further moans and platitudes, not all of them his own.

“Sherlock,” He started, trying to speak as clearly as he could in this situation. “You’re my mate. I’m not giving this up,” A deeper push into the luxuriously velvety interior of the man beneath him. “You’ll have all of me, then I’ll come so deep you’ll never get it all out.”

“Idkjf;sdfh;ajbjbbjk!” Sherlock cried into John’s mouth as he felt a secondary heat align with his own verbose cock which had been letting it’s opinion be known for quite some time. Then John’s very human fingers clutched them together; warm lubricant from John easing the motion. The thrust and slide became more insistent, but no less tender.

Noises (from Sherlock) increased dramatically at the added sensations (and so did the mutterings from John of “not food, friend, mine, nice”). This was probably a good thing, since a balance of noise is preferable over one majorly noisy participant on the whole, at least at these early(ish) stages in the proceedings.

“Tell me Sherlock,” John thrusted him open further, the slickness of his tentacle (if there were a name for it other than that, which actually there is his big brain just sparked remembrance - well it would have done if the blood flow was more efficient. Which it wasn’t). The Latin was  ‘ingens in coitu’ which roughly translated as ‘huge in coupling’.

“Tell me if it’s too much... I must... I want all of you... not food... sweet... lovely...” Whispering now, John continued to nibble on various parts of Sherlock.

(John’s other parts seemed to live up to this as well.)

We should point out dear reader, that John normally has more self-control than this, and typically doesn’t need to remind himself not to eat people. Mostly anyway. But for some reason Sherlock was just far too juicily scrumptious. He needed to taste every inch of him inside and out. Hence the verbal spewage.

“Nevugshhh!” Was all Sherlock could moan, his mouth becoming occupied by John’s wonderfully long and talented tongue that was currently fucking Sherlock’s face, filling possessively then retreating. Which was a bit more than slightly confusing since there also seemed to be one poking his left ear. And one sliding round his middle. And one... Ok, you get the point.

There were a lot of tentacles that Sherlock hadn’t had time to observe before getting wound up in them. Literally.They were innumerable and teeming, hungry... no starved, finally being loosed upon John’s victim (ahem, mate. Not for eating!!!). Slick with excitement and anticipation, they writhed across Sherlock’s pale skin, creating a vision of vividly charismatic colours that seemed to hum under the flourescent lights.

John’s appendages lifted Sherlock into the air, then began a torturously slow downward pressure impaling him on John’s main shaft that began to undulate as it worked inward. The little (ickle remember - actually really not that ickle, given the colossal size of everything else. Perspective, my dear.) suction cups becoming nubs lightly kissing his interior. This is the point where John, sweet loving John, our hero in this story suddenly slows everything as if they were having a matrix moment. Also because he’s just realised he’s tried to stuff two tentacles in a relatively small hole and they won’t quite fit which is incredibly frustrating for poor John.

He feels for his mate as well, poor Sherlock.

“Sherlock dearest,” John coos, (remember Matrix) time slowing further. “Tell me, is it too much?” Even as his greedy insatiable ickle thin tenties (actually incredibly huge appendages - well not huge so much as very, very long and very prehensile. And very big. The authors refuse to agree on this point.) begin to unwind as to not suffocate his kill (MATE... NOT FOOD!!!), his mate. “I just want all of you is all.”

Sherlock, had he had the capacity to not only articulate words but also use his big brain at this point probably would have been very impressed by this. As it was, all he could do was grunt.

“Your voice, Sherlock...” John crooned, blowing raspberries on the exposed skin, what of it there was. “Tell me... I’ll not eat you... I promise.”

As Sherlock hovered mid-air and John released him he fell back onto the table with a plop, causing him to be knocked out for a minute or so, which John found extremely advantageous as it meant that certain muscles... ahem... relaxed and he was able to slide his largest ingens further into Sherlock with a loud groan.

“Fuck, that’s lovely!” John couldn’t help but growl. Which alarmed Sherlock somewhat when he began to come round. John retracted and held most of his tenties at bay, only using ten of them for the time being, lapping his flesh with their seeping tips... he didn’t want to overwhelm again. “Oh Sherlock, you are fucking perfect! So HOT!”

“John! Oh... so fu- full!” Sherlock managed.

“Oh just wait, it’ll be better when I knot! You’ll have all my babies then!” (nopenopenope) Sherlock promptly fainted. John then remembered that his mate (not food) couldn’t have their perfect little octos being human, and began to cry, big fat salty green tears, but quickly recovered himself because he still loved the man anyway. Still wanted this exquisite lovely treat for always, and that was alright too. It also meant that he was far less likely to eat him absentmindedly. He was rather proud of this fact, as he coaxed Sherlock once again to consciousness kissing him in a more human fashion.

Sherlock came to with a start and kissed John back enthusiastically, making little noises of pleasure in the back of his throat as John’s tentacles caressed his skin in a more gentle manner. John was concerned at all this being knocked out after all. He did care about his food. MATE.(Mate damn it! Get it right!) And at any rate he could taste him better too, all those sugary pheromones traveling along his skin just waiting to be ingested by the barest touch.

The giggles. Sherlock hadn’t meant to get them, but then I suppose nobody ever does, least of all at the most inopportune moments. John found himself joining in, not exactly sure what was funny until Sherlock gasped out “tickles... ten... tickles...”

“Yes, Uvu, ten. Ten tentacles for you my darling.” John obviously hadn’t quite grasped what was going on after all. Which is not surprising, since he’s not as clever as Sherlock. (He is, but it’s in mating rituals handbook no.4 that explains that laughter is encouraged for proper copulation)

Sherlock shook his head violently and tried to explain round the laughter. “No... tickles... TICKLES...!” John still didn’t get it.

“Oh! You’re close then?!?” John was over the moon, or Jupiter, or Raxacoricofallibatorius... yeah no, I can’t spell it either. Needless to say wherever he hailed from. His member now pressed snugly within his mate, undulated in a wickedly tender tempo, finding Sherlock’s prostate. “Keep laughing... oh you sound ambrosial!”

Sherlock lifted his head in surprise and stared at John. “I sound what now?!”

“Heavenly. Luscious, fragrant. Fertile...On your breath, your skin...” He inhaled deeply, allowed his ten tenties to caress Sherlock’s ivory skin reverently as his eyes rolled back a bit and closed as if in prayer. John’s hips pressed, widening Sherlock even further as John’s very human hand began stroking Sherlock’s ickle penis (not that too. No, that was definitely not little either.)  once again, pouring adoration on it. “Yes, I know you’re not capable, but it’s all fine.”

(It’s at this point that both authors are physically dying for lack of basic air. But hey, at least the sex is HOT. No it isn’t. Sherlock has the giggles and John is failing to understand basic English. Carry on. Well it is his 7th language after all... No it isn’t, it’s his first. He got bitten by a tentacle monster when he was just a boy and turned into this... Stop making excuses for him!)

John grabs the curtain, pulling it sharply closed once again with a resounding snick and grumbles about weird bodiless voices outside before returning his full attention back to the love of his life. (Who honestly also looked concerned now for a completely different reason than John’s tentacles) “Shhh...” John cooed yet again. “It’s just traffic... Or one of the other accountants...” (I thought you said John wasn’t stupid. He’s not, just in the middle of a mating heat.)

“Quiet John,” Sherlock shifted into the touch of all the appendages. “Need you... to move...”

“But I am, darling,” John planted little (ickle) kisses along Sherlock’s jaw breathing in his wondrous scent... all cinnamon now. (Ok, that’s ENOUGH. How old are our readers, hmm? Old enough that ickle and cutesy is not what they want to see. So stop it! Well statistically the average age of a reader is- oh fuck it NM.) John laved his tongue passionately along Sherlock’s carotid... the blood singing to him (Oh so he’s a vampire now too is he?! Well we worked in size, tentacle, knot, A/O... I was trying to hit all the things ok? NO NOT OKAY. Fine. (Raspberries co-author) HEY! WHO SAID IT WAS OK TO MATE WITH ME?!)

John, our manly, stoic, not sweet but soldierly octo-mutation, thrust deeply into Sherlock, the cries of passion spurring him on. Well, they weren’t actually cries of passion. More pleas. And not so much passion as... Well I’m not really sure. But the point is we are almost 99.2% sure it was pleasure of some sort. (This is not non-con after all. Yes it is. Well, at least dub-con.)

So our, manly, brave, heatedly erotic male central role, (also known as John) brought his languid lover to his precipice (well not literally) and broke him against, seafoam and brine (MIXED METAPHOR ALERT) washed upon his sensitive flesh like appendages as waves and waves rushed in to capture him as well. It was pure and holy and bliss and abnosomeness. (STOP. AGAIN. No it wasn’t. It was painful because John had forgotten about the tentacle trying to enter through Sherlock’s left ear and so the poor man was a bit too sidetracked trying to shy away from it to enjoy the experience.)

REWIND! REDEUX!! TAKE TWO!

John’s tentacles lovingly cradled Sherlock, holding him in reverence. He wanted this to be perfect for his mate, for his Sherlock, his forever against the horizon. (*snores in the background*) As Sherlock lost himself to pleasure, (he can’t, there’s still a tentacle thrusting in his left ear) John growled his release as well.

FINE! REWIND. REWIND. RETHRES! TAKE THREE!!!

(My turn. Finally.) John gently began to thrust his warm wet tentacles in and out of Sherlock's openings, being careful to remove the tickly one from his left ear first. Sherlock’s cries of pleasure began to mount as John words of love and adoration flowed over and around him, just as the tentacles did. (And? I don’t know, I got distracted by the tentacles, didn’t I?! Anyway...)

OMG!!! FINE!!! REQUATRE!!!! TAKE FOUR! (HANG ON! I WASN’T DONE YET! FIne, continue... raspberries... when you’ve quite finished coming on to me...)

As I was saying... Sherlock was becoming very happy, increasingly happy as John began to move fast over his body, his tentacles... (Oh I give up. You carry on. No, you were saying...(tickles ear) Er... I... I was? Oh yeah.)

John’s tentacles had never felt this much pleasure before, and John himself had not experienced the full joy of letting himself truly go with another. (And...? Oh... sorry your ear *tasted* nice...) He was so thankful that Sherlock hadn’t fought, screamed, or had been eaten. (YOU SAID THAT WOULDN’T BE A PROBLEM. AND GET OFF MY EAR!!!) His member slipped with gentle force, retracting just enough so that they would not be locked together (NOW THAT’S JUST MEAN. I WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO THAT!), but enough that Sherlock keened as John swiped at the taught node of his prostate both anterior and interiorly before thrusting back once again as Sherlock began to pant and cry for more of him. (There see... THANK YOU.)

“John! Oh FUCK ME!” John raspberried over his lover (bad metaphor alert), then purred into his ear being mindful of his other ones making sure they were only petting or holding gently, as his tentacles that held the suction cups came along and enveloped them safely in their own haven. (aww, more cutesy. Well done. Thank you. That was sarcasm dear.) He thrust, his foreskin working anticlockwise, causing a swirling effect that sent Sherlock into spasm after spasm of ecstasy, crying loudly once again. “PLEASE JOHN! Take Me! NOW!” (such a cock-slut. So are you. I mean, so would you be if there were that many tentacles in you.)

“Yes, darling... shhhh...” He gentled removing himself to the suctioned tip before ramming deep and hard and home, the rush of The Mating taking full tilt. (Yeah ok, clean up in aisle three...) “I’m here, not food, love Uvu, taste so... GOD!” (I think you mean good. Yes, quite possibly)

“Ahhhh! JOhN! It’s SO!!!!!!!!” Sherlock lost all speech as the knot filled and rounded to about the size of a ripe plum (that’s not very big, considering. Try watermelon next time. I’ll take it into consideration... have you ever put a plum OH FOR HEAVENS SAKE NM! Trust me, you don't want to know.) locking them together. As John came, the knot inflated further to about a peach, but pressed so well and fine against Sherlock’s tight heat he tumbled shortly after.

(Where did he go...?Oh... well you know... metaphor? No? Yes. Like the ridiculously mixed ones you’ve been using all the way through!!!!!!)

Sherlock’s orgasm hit with the power of a hundred suns, all he could feel was heat, all he could see was fireworks and rainbows.

(Better? No? Your turn (raspberries) So... go on... No no, carry on. I insist... JUST STOP TRYING TO...!?!?! Oh, alright...)

AHEM...

“John, please...” Sherlock gazed into John’s deep wonderfully blue eyes before kissing his mated. John began responding passionately, loving  but still tentative. The feel of Sherlock pressed against him must have been overwhelming, with all the sensory input John was receiving. Sherlock was wanting more, but didn’t know if he could handle it. Blushing he kissed John once again, trying to ask with his body, moving with the tentacles and crossing his ankles behind John’s back showing full trust in him. “I need... please.”

“Shh... I’ve got you.” John understood, running his hands along Sherlock’s face, he framed it before reciprocating the kiss.

Sherlock wrapped his own arms under John’s holding onto his ribs even though he didn’t need to steady himself, John did indeed have him securely. John breathed in deeply at Sherlock’s neck as he began pressing and thrusting in earnest, his knot working into Sherlock as it filled. The movement and change in pressure had Sherlock gasping so that one of John’s suctioned cupped tentacled came and laid gently across his heart patting to their unique rhythm before moving to his cock.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed as the appendage worked it deftly taking his mind off the almost incessant pressure his body was having to withstand as John’s knot was almost full, ready to lock them, keeping them close. He flushed heavily, all the sensations pushing him somewhere he hadn’t been before. “John... ohh... Jo-”

“Ah! Shh... Sherlock... God right there!” It was John’s turn to run out of words as all those sensitive nerve endings sent electrical impulses back to his brain at once, screaming in pleasure at Sherlock’s incredibly favourable reaction. He was able to get one more good thrust as his orgasm took him, locking them as they both rode out the first of John’s many. As he rocked, seating himself better within his mate, he murmured sounds of encouragement in his ear, wanting to feel Sherlock follow.

“Come on, Uvu, you’re right there...” John gently maneuvered the tentacle inside Sherlock, prodding insistently at his prostate and was instantly rewarded with a small squeak and a big shudder.

“Yes there... give it... ” Sherlock tried to relax (really? Is that what you do when you’re about to have an orgasm by tentacle?!) and go with the spark, the flood of information too much. The need greater though, than him as his body blissfully ignored his mental will, instead humming to the set pace of deft (well not fingers...) suckers (see, not that hard...) suction cups that had begun attaching themselves to his prostate kissing him from within.(He was humming too now? Want him to juggle pears as well?! This was nice for our readers, hush... good sexy times, yes? Yeah, okay... Shhhh...)

“JOOOOOHHHHNNNN! I’m Going TO DIE!” Was all Sherlock was able to gasp out as he was wracked with spasm as he orgasmed, the prolonged teasing forcing everything to be concentrated round one - albeit reasonably large - part of his anatomy. The second hitting back to back with the first causing John to go over once again as well. Everything turned into static and white noise as he floated offline (so will I in a minute if you carry on with this drivel! I will, hold the bus! What bus?! The bus you told me to drive...oh NM!) disconnected for once from the incessant mundane minutiae of typical life. No John was none of that... and he had chosen to claim Sherlock as his. (raspberries. STOP WITH THE RASPBERRIES, OK?! Look, if you wanted to have your way with me all you had to do was ASK! coils around behind... *lick* No! HEY!)

ANYWAY...

Dear reader, this is the bit where you use your imagination. Because I can’t tell you what’s going on in either John or Sherlock’s brain - not a lot to be fair, but still... (*starfishing around body* Erm... Ok? Uvu... SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I’m writing.) The feelings experienced in both men were so incredible, (ohhhhh soooo incredible... I SAID SHHHHHHHH) so extreme that I really don’t have the words to describe what it was like. This is not really surprising since I’m not either one of them. (*tickles ear* OH FOR... *bats you away* *tickles other ear* Uvu...STOP IT!!!! ALSO, when did YOU get to be the one with the tentacles? That’s so unfair!!! *tickles neck... ickle pops can be heard* WHAT ARE YOU DOING NOW???? *straight face* NOTHING! THAT’S DEFINITELY NOT NOTHING)

But it could be something, wouldn't it readers? (What could?) I mean, there are always other alt timelines (raspberries)... other... *ahem* crack fiction? (raspberries could? Raspberries could what?! *tickles ears and neck and raspberries* Oh. *sighs and coughs* gerofff) Oh, we know dear readers, don’t we? (*soft pops heard closeby* *growls at you* what now???? *licks as something vaguely slick winds up torso* Not again...)

Yes, dearest reader... we know. (I promise I won’t eat this one ...WHAT?! but she smells so divine... WHAT?!?!?!?! I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS! No, *raspberries as other slickness can be felt creeping* but you’ll enjoy it... I’ll make sure... You’re not food... I know. I DID NOT SIGN UP FOR THIS...)

Good night dear reader... (HELP!!! SERIOUSLY, SOMEBODY - ANYBODY...? Shhhhh Uvu... *pops*)

 


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